


On this path unwinding

by orphan_account



Series: And By the Way, Werewolves [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles would never need to rely on the doorbell again.</p><p>Follows <i>And say it loud enough that they can hear you</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On this path unwinding

**Author's Note:**

> This is set immediately after [_And say it loud enough that they can hear you_](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/FMF_01/works/646291), the piece I wrote for the first week's prompt of 'Red'. I'm having A03 issues, as far as actually making this part of the series, but hopefully I can fix that soon. In continuation of the theme, the title comes from _The Lion King_.

Stiles would never need to rely on the doorbell again. As soon as Derek’s head snapped toward the door, prompting an odd glance from Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles knew that the rest of the participants in what promised to be a glorious conversation for all involved had arrived.  
  
Glancing between Derek and his dad, Stiles decided he could afford to take the risk of leaving for long enough to answer the door. Neither of them looked ready to shed blood or contribute to noise pollution just yet. He stood up from the recliner he had slumped over fifteen minutes ago, uncertain if he should be glad for a chance to escape the tension choking the air between the three of them, or dreading its return as a result of the discussion to come.  
  
The trip to the front door had never seemed so awkward. He could feel the eyes of both the men he had left behind like a flame on the back of his neck, and all he could do was pray that he did not do something as typical as tripping over his own feet.  
  
Feet did come into play, but what actually caused him to stumble was the lace of his left shoe, which he stepped on about three feet from the door. He fell forward, barely managing to brace himself against the sturdy wood, and ignoring the soft huffs he could hear in response to the audible thump which accompanied his recovery. Straightening, he cleared his throat and unlocked the door, making a face at the mildly amused expressions which greeted him. Werewolf hearing was stupid, and no one could tell him otherwise.  
  
Or, well, they could, but he would deny it long past the time when he laid six feet under the dirt.  
  
Watching the way that Derek and Scott reacted to each others’ presence was more than enough to convince Stiles to get the show on the road. “I have tea steeping in the kitchen, if anyone wants some, or we have orange juice and milk...?”  
  
Okay, so sometimes he was a bit of a coward.  
  
Scott grinned winningly and went straight to the kitchen, presumably to grab a glass of milk. Isaac glanced at Derek and then ventured cautiously, “I like peppermint.”  
  
“Awesome. How much sugar do you want?”  
  
...  
  
The following discussion would hold pride of place as one of the top five most awkward of his life so far. Stiles handed Isaac his tea and made sure everyone else was situated before choosing a space along the wall opposite his dad to lean, feeling far too jittery to sit down. He let the moment stretch out as long as he could, sipping from his own mug, and then took a deep breath. “So, dad. What do you know about werewolves?”  
  
As far as confessions go, he could have started out worse, but it all sort of devolved from there. At first, his dad looked confused and borderline irate, but then the three werewolves present had the terrible idea of shifting without warning. After about ten minutes of wondering whether or not he would have to put the CPR course Mrs. McCall had made him and Scott take last summer to good use, his dad began to calm down, and ordered him to start from the beginning. (“And don’t leave anything out, Stiles. I know you.”) So Stiles began with the night he had dragged Scott out into the woods to look for Laura Hale’s missing half. The other three already in the know interjected here and there, Scott and Derek more so than Isaac, considering how late the last of the Laheys had joined the supernatural game.  
  
When the entire tale was almost over, the sheriff spoke up. How could he stay silent, with Derek Hale sitting stoically in what used to be Saoirse’s favorite spot on the couch, telling him about the wounds Stiles managed to acquire in the process of saving the lives of him and his pack?  
  
“Show me,” he grated, dealing with too many emotions at once. On the one hand, he was incredibly proud of all that his son had done to protect his friends and his hometown. On the other, he was furious that Stiles had been risking his life, hurt that it had taken this long for him to tell the truth, terrified for what this new life meant in terms of his son’s safety, and so incredibly guilty for letting things get so far away from him.  
  
“Dad,” Stiles started, looking gutted (really not a good thought, considering where several of the wounds apparently were), but whatever he saw in the sheriff’s face made him reconsider. Setting down the now-empty mug which he had been clutching for several hours now, Stiles licked his lips and reached for the bottom of his Captain America t-shirt.  
  
At the sight of the skin painstakingly revealed, Sheriff Stilinski stood up from his creaky old recliner, coming to stand before his son. He raised a shaky hand to the thick, angry red lines stretching from the left pectoral muscle to the first signs of the right hip, his fingers ghosting over the too-warm flesh. Staring at the proof of what had happened to his baby boy, of the marks he would bear for the rest of his life, it became hard to breathe.  
  
Still, at the soft, uncertain, “Dad?” the sheriff forced himself get a grip, looking up into his son’s concerned eyes, so much like his late wife’s. He moved his hand to rest upon one slumped shoulder, squeezing gently.  
  
There would be time to discuss all of the reasons Stiles should have shared all of this sooner, all of the different ways they were going to try to ensure that he was never so close to death again. For now, the sheriff simply mustered a small smile and said, “I always knew you were a hero, son.”  
  
And now the rest of the world knew it too.


End file.
